


would you be so kind (as to fall in love with me?)

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Locked In, Personal Trope Challenge, Romantic Tension, quite literally took the trope as an excuse to write some smooches, written PM (pre-mustache)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: "Fiona’s mind was feverish, racing, kicking open doors and smashing open locks on every thought she’d ever had anywhere near this kind of scenario, any thought that had started with the outrageous supposition that maybe Rhys might sort of like her too."





	would you be so kind (as to fall in love with me?)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna make it til september, guys, i'm just not
> 
> title is from Dodie's song "would you be so kind"
> 
> this fic is the first of a personal trope challenge that i gave myself because i'm gonna give me everything i want. i'm hoping to eventually do more trope inspired borderlands fics, but this is the first. trope inspiration is "locked in".

His name was Muggut, apparently, and Fiona still couldn’t quite figure out why he’d gone with that particular bandit king name. Like, what was he trying to prove with that? Was it supposed to be like maggot? Or was it a reference to his barrel chest? ‘Cause it was sort of mug-shaped?

A blast burst over her head and she ducked back behind cover as pieces of the wall cracked and splintered, raining dust and concrete down onto her head.

“Gross,” she muttered, feeling grateful for her hat as she popped up out of cover and squeezed off a burst of rounds into the group of henchmen.

Muggut was cackling from above them, floating around in some weird sort of helicopter type contraption. But he didn’t seem to actually be firing at them, content to float around and laugh that irritating high-pitched laugh while his henchmen bumbled around and generally failed at killing them.

Fiona didn’t understand this particular strategy but hey, if it got them closer to the prize at the end, who really cared? They’d pick this guy off just like they had countless others.

She scanned the battle, checking on the others: Sasha, biting the pin out of a grenade and chucking it into a group of bandits with a wide grin. Totally fine.

August, backing her up, scowling as he faced down a giant hulking man who seemed to be wearing an entire metal door as a front shield. Also totally fine.

Rhys, standing at one of the consoles, tongue between his teeth in concentration. Much less fine, since he didn’t seem to notice the snarling hench-bandit sneaking up behind him.

Fear shot Fiona’s heart into her throat and she was scrambling out of cover before she realized she was moving, gun up, popping off a round as she raced across the chaotic room.

The bandit went down with a howl and Rhys jumped, clearly startled, whipping around with wide eyes. His Echo Eye was still lit when she skidded to a stop next to him, out of breath and livid.

“Would you pay attention?” she snapped at him, spinning around to check their six. “I didn’t drag you out here to watch you get shot in the head.”

“Sorry!” he said, spinning back around, apparently totally confident she had his back. Which she did, but still, the trust was… nice. “But I almost got his shield down! Then we can just ping him a couple of times and boom, no more Maggot. Nugget. Whatever.”

Fiona stepped backwards a hair, so they stood shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions. “Well, hurry it up,” she said, glancing at the code skittering down the screen. “These guys are giving me a rash.”

“Gross,” he commented and Fiona shot him a scowl.

“Not a real one, dick.”

Unfortunately, this was right about when Muggut realized what they were doing. Or rather what Rhys specifically was doing.

“Hey!” he howled from overhead. The helicopter blades whump whump whumped at top speed, sending hot air blasting down as he hovered above them. “Cut that out right now!”

“Blow me!” Rhys yelled back, not taking his eyes off the screen and Fiona wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or punch him. Instead she whipped her gun overhead and squeezed off a round. It pinged harmlessly off Muggut’s shields and she swore, the sound lost under the scream of the blades.

“I’ve had about enough of you in my systems,” snarled Muggut’s squeaky voice from somewhere in the helicopter and Fiona just barely caught a glimpse of a fleshy hand slamming a big red button.

There was an almighty rumble from below their feet and Fiona looked down in surprise to see that the floor was splitting apart, gaping open to reveal a dark hole. Rhys looked down, tearing his eyes from the screen, but his shout of alarm came a split second too late. His heel slid off the edge of the moving metal floor and he fell backwards, snapping his hand out to catch something – anything – to hold onto.

Without thinking, Fiona flung her own hand out, the ground shaking nearly too hard to stand, and caught Rhys’ wrist.

But it was too much – the wind from the helicopter, the rumbling of the ground, the slick metal floor – and she went tumbling after Rhys.

He hit first, landing hard on his back, grunting as Fiona landed sprawled on top of him, knees and legs and arms tangled together.

They’d fallen a much shorter distance than she’d thought, and for a moment Fiona was completely disoriented, not entirely sure which way was even back up, when the rumbling started up again.

“Fiona!” Rhys groaned, flinging an arm up, but it was too late. The floor closed above them with a thunk, cutting off the light and leaving them in the dark, the muffled sounds of the battle still raging overhead.

Fiona swore, low and harsh, and shifted, trying to sit up. She cracked her head on the metal ceiling and whimpered as pain shot through her skull, flinging both hands up to press against her head.

“Damn it,” Rhys rasped. “You ok?”

“No,” Fiona snapped, pressing her fingers gingerly against her skull.

Fingers brushed her shoulder, then her neck, then her cheek, feeling their way up her face to find where she was holding her head, gently pressing down to find the pain. Fiona felt her cheeks heat and realized, suddenly, that they were pressed together, chest to hip to tangled legs in the dark, with barely enough room for Fiona to push herself up off of him.

There was... not a lot of room left for imagination.

“Why is this even _here_?” she muttered, batting Rhys’ fingers away from her head. “I’m fine. Cut it out.”

Rhys shifted under her, trying to move his legs, and Fiona gripped his shoulder. “Stop,” she hissed and Rhys went still. “Light?”

“Hang on,” Rhys said and there was a brief scuffle as he tried to slip his robotic arm from between their bodies. He slipped it up around her shoulders, behind her head and after a moment a faint light illuminated their prison.

Fiona had been right – the floor had closed pretty much right over her head and there wasn’t even enough space for them to lie side by side. It was basically a metal coffin inset into the ground. Rhys looked up at her, their faces barely inches apart, and Fiona wondered what she’d done to deserve this. She was a good person. Wasn’t she?

Rhys was studying her, jawline sharp in the shadows cast by the weak light from his hand. “Seriously. You ok?”

“Fine,” she said, letting her head drop so she was staring at his chest instead. Her shoulders were already killing her with the effort of holding herself up and off of him. “You?”

“Wind knocked out of me. Better now.”

His other arm had settled on her waist, hand resting on the small of her back. Fiona could feel it like a brand, heat pulsing through her jacket as if he were on fire.

“Well, hell,” Rhys mumbled, squinting over her head. “That could have gone better.”

Fiona sighed, frustrated. “You just had to pull me down with you, didn’t you?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Oh sure, blame me,” he hissed, shooting her a pout. “It’s my fault the bandit has creepy coffin floor traps all over the place.

“If you had been paying closer attention, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“You didn’t have to try and catch me,” he grumbled, lifting his hand off her back to try and pry at the seam in the floor above them.

Fiona ignored the way her back went cold without the comforting weight of Rhys’ hand and rolled her eyes instead. “Next time I’ll let you fall to your death, how’s that?”

Rhys pouted at her, letting his hand drop back to rest against the small of her back again.

Fiona sighed, avoiding his gaze. It was a lot less fun to fight with him when she was forced to look directly into his injured expression. “Don’t... give me that look. You know I’m not letting you go anywhere,” she muttered.

Rhys‘ lips curled into a little half-smile, and he lifted his hand again to prod at the seam. “This thing isn’t going anywhere either,” he said, letting the moment fade behind them. His Eye sparked then faded almost as quickly. “Eye doesn’t see any weaknesses either.”

“We might be stuck,” Fiona said. She followed the line of his tattoo down his neck to where it disappeared beneath his collar.

She was hot, skin prickling everywhere they were pressed together. Her pistol holster was digging into her thigh and she shifted her hips, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Rhys caught his breath.

Fiona froze.

There was a moment of extremely awkward silence.

Fiona swallowed. “It’s fine, Rhys,” she said, voice as steady as she could make it. “It’s not like there’s anywhere else we can go.”

Rhys swallowed, the noise an audible click in his throat. “Just don’t shoot me or anything,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the ceiling above them. “It’s not my fault. You know. The friction and… stuff.”

Fiona watched the blush crawl up his throat, feeling wildly out of her depth.

“Do you think Sasha and August saw us fall?” she asked, trying to take both their minds off their positioning. She could feel his thigh from where it was pressed between her legs, his legs bent just a little, height too much for the enclosed space. Every inch of her body was on fire.

“I hope so,” Rhys said, voice thick. He tapped the ceiling with his flashlight hand experimentally, frowning at it. “They’ll never hear us yell over this racket.”

Fiona stared at his face as he tapped the ceiling, tongue between his teeth in concentration. His eyelashes were long, brushing his cheek with every blink. Had his eyes always been—

Nope. Reign it back, Fi. Nothing about that line of thinking will help you now.

His eyes flicked to her and Fiona dropped her head again, eyes on his collarbone. Her shoulders protested and she bit back a noise as she tried to roll them.

Rhys paused. “Here,” he said, softly, lifting his other hand and putting it gently on the back of her head. “Relax. You’re gonna kill your shoulders. You won’t crush me or anything, promise.”

Fiona hesitated for a split second. But he was right and her shoulders were killing her. With a sigh, she relaxed, letting Rhys take her weight, dropping her head next to his.

The relief in her shoulder muscles was instantaneous and she couldn’t help the small groan of relief.

Rhys’ fingers twitched against the back of her head, before they moved, gently and carefully, down the back of her neck to rest between her shoulder blades.

Fiona took a breath, smelling the faint cologne he must have sprayed that morning before they’d left, and turned her face a bit trying to find a more comfortable angle. Her nose brushed the side of his neck, before settling in the divot at his collarbone.

Rhys made a soft noise in her ear, something between a gasp and a murmur. His hand twitched against her back again.

Something was digging into her hip, something that was definitively not her holster, and Fiona’s mind was feverish, racing, kicking open doors and smashing open locks on every thought she’d ever had anywhere near this kind of scenario, any thought that had started with the outrageous supposition that maybe Rhys might sort of like her too.

Experimentally, face burning and heart in her throat, she tried to shift her hips, just a bit.

Rhys made a strangled noise that went straight to the hot twist in the pit of her stomach.

“Fiona,” he said, voice helpless and wrecked in her ear. “You are killing me.”

“Sorry,” she said, abashed, her lips grazing his neck as she spoke. Rhys laughed, humorless and a little pained.

“This is so unfair,” he muttered and Fiona didn’t quite think he was talking to her, more to the world at large.

She lifted her head, dizzy on the closeness and the smell of his skin. He looked back at her, the pupil of his real eye blown so wide it almost ate the soft golden brown color completely. He stared back at her, expression dead serious.

They were so close the tips of their noses brushed.

“What’s unfair?” she asked, throat dry. Sasha had brought it up, once. A joke about how duh, of course Fiona was Rhys’ favorite, wasn’t it obvious?

But Fiona hadn’t believed her because no, it wasn’t obvious. Rhys hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made it obvious in the slightest and Fiona just hadn’t been able to make herself take the leap, petrified that she’d read everything wrong. Petrified that he’d meant anyone but her when he’d said what he’d said at the Vault of the Traveler.

Rhys pressed his lips together, closing his eyes briefly. “Please,” he said quietly. “Just... Fiona. You looking at me like... like that is not helping.”

Fiona swallowed. “Isn’t helping what?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

He sounded small, defeated, eyes shut so he didn’t have to look up at her face. Fiona wiggled her hand up from where it was trapped between them and tapped his cheek.

“Rhys, look at me.”

They were so close already that it took nothing, barely even a dip of her head for Fiona to gather every ounce of courage and brush a kiss against Rhys’ lips.

Rhys sucked in a surprised breath, eyes flying open to stare up at her. She hadn’t shut her eyes, wanting to catch this, to catch this moment of realization, to try and explain to him with her eyes what she couldn’t quite say yet with her voice.

Rhys stared at her, apparently speechless as Fiona pulled back just enough to break the kiss before pressing another against the corner of his mouth.

He took a shaky breath against her lips, turning his head to catch her fully, kissing her back and sending every nerve in Fiona’s body alight. He caught her cheek with his flesh and blood hand, just holding her face in place as he kissed her softly, and this, this was Fiona’s answer. She should have done this at the Vault of the Traveler. She should have done this the moment he’d looked her in the eye and told her it wasn’t Sasha he was interested in.

Fiona put a hand on his cheek, squeezing her eyes shut against the rush of emotion that was threatening to bubble out of her.

It was Rhys who broke this one, barely separating from her, lips still brushing but giving them a chance to catch their breath.

“Fiona?” he asked, voice soft and unsure, as though everything in the entire world hinged on the question he’d asked with just her name.

Fiona lifted her head to meet his eyes. She felt like she had a thousand things to say but they jumbled up in her brain, buzzing and fighting to be the first one out in the open, and she found that she had absolutely no idea where to start.

“Rhys, I—” she began, but was interrupted as suddenly, the metal ceiling above them shuddered to life. Sunlight poured through the crack and Rhys let his arm drop, the flashlight winking out. Was she imagining the frustration that had flashed across his face?

She wondered if it was similar to the way her stomach had swooped with disappointment just before the relief.

“Hey!” Sasha said, her face appearing in the slice of blue sky. “You guys ok? We saw you fall.”

August leaned in, hooking his arms under Fiona’s and hauled her up and off of Rhys. Rhys sat up, squinting in the sunlight.

“Yeah,” he said, then cleared the rasp out of his voice. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Fiona looked at him, at the flush in his cheeks and down his throat. She wondered if she looked any better.

Sasha looked between them, raising an eyebrow. Rhys ignored her. “You guys took care of Muggut then?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t all that tough once August put a hole in his shield.”

“Great.” Rhys looked up then, over Sasha’s shoulder, and their eyes locked. He gazed at her for a moment, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of her face, her expression.

He seemed to be waiting for something. For her?

Fiona didn’t say anything, looking back at him. Her mind was buzzing, her adrenaline still kicking through her bloodstream, making her hands shake, just a bit.

Rhys’ expression dimmed and he looked away.

“Not that this hasn’t been fun,” he said,“but I bet that bank of computers ol’ Chicken Nugget had in the back room is now accessible. So… I’m gonna… go access them. Yeah.” Rhys motioned vaguely in that direction and headed off towards the offices, the place where the locked door had once been now a twisted gaping scar in the metal wall.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Fi, are you guys ok?”

Fiona stared after Rhys, watching him pick his way through the wreckage, her mind racing.

Rhys was giving her an out. Giving her the chance to let what had happened trapped in the floor stay there, in the dark.

He was giving that to her, because he wasn’t sure what she wanted.

Was she even sure what she wanted?

She felt like a timer somewhere was ticking down on a decision – Stay or Follow Him. Which one, Fiona?

Sasha took a step closer. “Fiona?”

Stay or Follow Him?

Fiona bit her lower lip. “I’m fine, Sasha,” she said, distractedly. “But…”

Rhys, defeated, squeezing his eyes shut in the darkness. _Don’t make me say it_.

Stay or Follow Him?

“I’m… gonna go help Rhys with the computers.” Fiona said, and stepped over a bit of sparking robotics, towards the offices.

“Oh. Ok, yeah, good idea. You do that. August and I will gather anything salvageable off these guys.” Sasha motioned around them at the remains of Muggut’s bandit army, but Fiona was barely listening.

Follow Him, she thought, and couldn’t help but smile. Her fingertips felt warm, and out of nowhere, a memory struck her.

“ _Together?”_

“ _Well, yeah.”_

Fiona mouthed the words silently, stepping neatly over an abandoned SMG. _That’s the best part._


End file.
